Find Me Alastar

The name intrigues me, so I head in that direction to investigate. “I might just look in here quickly.”This is the property of Nô-velDrama.Org.

“Take your time. I’ll go and get us some coffee and meet you on the bench seat over there.” He points

over to the park and I nod.

The black gloss painted door is heavy and old, and a bell is attached to the top, ringing loudly as I

walk in and announcing my arrival.

My eyes look around the cluttered space in awe. It’s a traditional antique shop, complete with the full

antique shop ambience, including the old and musty smells. Every space on every wall is filled with shelf

after shelf of clocks, dolls, bears and lampshades. You name it and it’s here. Grey and crème velvet floral

wallpaper lines the walls.

“Wow,” I whisper to myself I did not expect this Aladdin’s cave of treasure. The shop seemed small

from the front but is actually quite large on the inside with lots of aisles and furniture set up in the corner.

A little old lady comes around from the hidden back room. She would have to be ninety.

“Hello, my dear. Can I help you with anything?”

I smile at her hunched over posture. “Just looking, thanks.” I walk up and down the aisles and pick up

an old rose teacup and saucer. It’s a beautiful pink and has gold gilding around the edges. Oh, I love this. I

turn it over and see the price sticker is only £15. 00. I have no idea what that equates to in Australian

dollars, but I don’t care-I’m getting it. I continue around the shop with a huge smile on my face.

This is why I wanted to come to England. We don’t have history in Australia. The whole country is

only 250 years old. Our history was mostly borne in England, and I intend to inhale every breath of it

while I’m here. I continue looking around, walking over to the old cabinets to peer through the glass tops.

Filled with rows and rows of antique jewelry, they fascinate me. My eyes roll back and forth over the

lines of trays, and then I see it. In the bottom right corner is a ring. It’s rose gold with an oval green

emerald stone sitting in the centre of it. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. It’s so feminine, yet so

different. I keep looking at the other pieces but my eyes are constantly drawn back to this one ring.

“Would you like to try it on, dear?” The old lady asks.

“Oh, umm.” I shrug. “Why not? Yes, please.”

She smiles a knowing smile at me. “You have excellent taste. That ring is very, very old.”

“Oh.” I smile as she hands it to me and I stand still and stare at it for a minute. It’s intriguing.

“Can you feel the beautiful energy coming from that ring?” she asks.

My eyes rise to meet hers and I frown not understanding her meaning.

“The women who have owned that ring have all been beautiful souls. I can feel you also have the gift.

That stone it carries is an emerald.” She smiles.

I frown at her, the gift? What’s that supposed to mean? I run my thumb over the stone of the ring as I

hold it in my hand, she’s right. I can feel the beautiful energy coming from it.

I smile softly at her.

“Try it on,” she urges.

I slide it onto my ring finger of my right hand and I melt a little. Oh, I do love this ring. I don’t know

why; I have never liked anything like it before.

“How much is it?” I ask.

“Four hundred and twenty pounds,” she replies.

My face drops. “Oh,” I murmur sadly, knowing I don’t have that kind of money. I stare down at my

hand again. Shit.

Another customer calls her from the back aisle. “Excuse me for a moment, dear.” She disappears to

the other side of the shop.

I stand and stare at the ring on my hand. I do love it. I want to get it but I have to be careful with my

spending. Damn it. Should I just splash out? It is a lot of money… but then it is something that I would

have forever. I bite my thumbnail as I think.

The old lady comes back over to me. “Do you want to take that ring, my dear?”

I look down at my hand, I do, but I’m not telling her that. “Is this ring negotiable?” I ask meekly.

“No, darling. That ring is very valuable. We don’t even know of its true age. We do know it’s

hundreds and hundreds of years old by the stampings inside, though. But its origin is unknown. We believe

it may have belonged to royalty way back.”

I frown.

“It has royal stampings,” she replies, seeing my confusion.

I smile, that’s it. I really want this ring.

“Oh.”

“What is your name dear?” she asks.

“Emerson.”

“What a beautiful name.” She smiles.